


Inquisition of acquisition

by Beanwhile



Series: A French Affair [1]
Category: The Three Musketeers (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, M/M, Unrequited Love, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanwhile/pseuds/Beanwhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rochefort, Rochefort... you are such a headache sometimes, yet you amuse me most of the time. Why is it so?" the Cardinal whispers in Rochefort's ear and then he plans his lips on the soft and sensitive flesh behind it, sucking gently on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquisition of acquisition

                They push him into the cell, not too gently because he is a prisoner of sorts, not too lightly because he is a courtier. He obeys because resisting is futile, and these people have nothing to do with the problem, for once. They are just following Richelieu's orders. The Cardinal himself enters last and shuts the door behind him. Rochefort can tell the other man is angry by the whooshing sound of the door closing, unfollowed by a bang. Really, really angry.

                The servants strip him of his fine clothes, leaving him practically naked in his undershirt and drawers. His eye, honed for detail, can tell how much they are trying to appear rude, yet without inflicting any damage to his clothes, which cost more than their annual pay put together. He grunts dismissively and allows them to chain him in the middle of the room; he's standing, with his arms fettered and lifted, so if he tilts his head as much as his neck allows, his ear will be barely touching his biceps. It's a flashy pose - the Cardinal surely has something very special in mind.

                "I am growing a bit impatient with this luck of others that constantly foils your plans. That is, my plans through your actions, or the lack of the latter, if we must be precise. Please think this through - maybe you will discover the reason behind your complete lack of said luck." Richelieu smiles at him, but his eyes are as cold as ice in winter mornings, and then they exit the room, leaving him alone.

                He assures himself he's angry and displeased with such a turn of events, that he, Comte de Rochefort, is chained like a poor beggar. His anger and self-righteousness lick at him like the flame licks at drenched wood, and die out. He is, however, ashamed to admit, even to himself, that his current situation is actually, for once, in his favour.

                Luck is a most peculiar whim of events. He wouldn't normally describe himself as unlucky. He is rich, and skilled, and famed, and has everything he wants. Well, almost. He was a fool to entertain the thought of wanting something unobtainable, something he could never have. It persisted, at first occurring to him every now and then. Then he found himself thinking about it before he went to bed or after taking there even the most beautiful and debauched of women. And then, before he knew what was happening to him, he was alone in his chambers, shoving his fingers in and out of his ass, imagining that they weren't his but Richelieu's. A most stupid of mistakes, the unrequited love for another man. Not just any man, either, but a man of the cloth who is above him in rank.

                He bites his lip upon the thought of Richelieu punishing him. Not that his feelings for the Cardinal have meddled in his attempts to follow orders, never. It just so happens that luck was not with him these last few days. Knowing Richelieu, he wouldn't even dare disobeying on purpose. But sometimes, it is hard to keep appearances when scolded, so he just puts on a face of indifference and submission, and follows orders.

                He doesn't know how much time he has spent like this - maybe mere minutes, maybe hours on end. There are quiet, mousy footsteps in the corridor outside, then the door creeks and lets in a cloaked figure carrying another torch.

                "Why the secrecy?" Rochefort asks politely, feeling ridiculously bold when the fine aroma of the Cardinal's perfume taunts his nose.

                "It may have escaped your eye, but I always have my reasons behind everything I do, regardless of whether I share them with you or not." the amused voice of Richelieu rings under the cloak as the man sticks the torch in the holder on the wall. He then throws the cloak away, revealing his messy hair and that he is in his underwear, as dressed as Rochefort is. A long, thin whip hangs from a belt carelessly tilted around his waist. He runs his fingers through his hair and suddenly he looks twenty years younger, nearly a blooming youth. Rochefort moves to kiss the Cardinal's hand out of habit, and the pull and clang of the fetters remind him he is chained. Richelieu gives him an amused smirk.

                "What a sudden turn of attitude! Is there a face of Rochefort that I actually don't know about?" he teases, but offers his hand, and Rochefort softly plants his lips upon it with deference.

                He wonders whether he has taken too much of a moment to arouse suspicion and raises his eyes, but Richelieu is just looking at him, his face softened with some kind of deep thoughtfulness. He absent-mindedly turns his hand and his thumb runs over Rochefort's lips, back and forth, just barely touching the teeth behind. His eyes betray nothing. Rochefort tries his best not to take that thumb in his mouth and suck at it as if it was the finest wine in the whole of Europe.

                Said thumb however seems to have exactly the opposite plans as it boldly invades between Rochefort's lips and teeth, and brushes the tongue. It sends shivers down his spine and his body seems to betray him on this, because his lips softly close around the finger and suck ever so gently.

                "What do you think you're doing, Rochefort, with a man of the cloth?" Richelieu mocks him, but his thumb doesn't escape the prison of Rochefort's mouth, and the rest of the palm grabs hold of Rochefort's cheek, perfect nails scraping the skin.

                "What is a man of the cloth doing in my mouth, Your Eminence?" Rochefort retorts quietly even though they are alone in the room.

                The Cardinal laughs softly and closes the distance between them. Their gazes lock. Richelieu gently pulls his thumb out of Rochefort's mouth and smears saliva everywhere within its reach. His free hand hooks into Rochefort's drawers whilst the other starts gently kneading his face. The closeness sends sparks all over Rochefort's body and the hot breath of Richelieu on his neck makes him shiver violently.

                "Rochefort, Rochefort... you are such a headache sometimes, yet you amuse me most of the time. Why is it so?" the Cardinal whispers in Rochefort's ear and then he plans his lips on the soft and sensitive flesh behind it, sucking gently on it.

                Even if he has been prepared for this, Rochefort cannot help a broken moan of pleasure. Richelieu laughs quietly in his ear.

                "My, my, Rochefort, how easy it is to break you." he whispers. "What if you're captured by the enemy and they discover, completely by chance, that you're such a lewd whore? We can't have that now, can we?" he teases.

                "No, Your Eminence." Rochefort gasps. He is at the verge of protesting, of telling the other man that only he, he and nobody else, can elicit such lewd noises from him, but that would be the most stupid thing to do, revealing his unrequited feelings like this. It would mean, aside from his death, a complete disgrace.

                "Mmm, you have to keep appearances then, I'm afraid. Can you do this for me, Rochefort?" Richelieu continues, assaulting Rochefort's neck with his tongue after every few words.

                "I'll try my best, your Eminence." Rochefort promises. Right now he is willing to promise flowers picked from the stars, as long as it keeps the Cardinal occupied with his body.

                "It's a start." Richelieu breathes against Rochefort's neck and his teeth scrape at the sensitive skin.

                He then steps a bit back and their eyes meet for a second before he plunges in, assaulting rudely Rochefort's mouth. Rochefort's knees weaken under the spinning that takes his head, consecutively his body, but he gladly opens his mouth, inviting, accepting Richelieu's tongue, greeting it meekly with his own. They kiss, long and sloppily, breathing through their noses. Richelieu seems somewhat eager to lavish Rochefort with his ministrations - he bites his lips, and when the skin breaks he hungrily licks at the blood, then jabs his tongue back in Rochefort's mouth, sharing the tinge of iron. Rochefort gladly accepts, tries to follow but never returns the Cardinal's endearments. He wants to moan and to gasp, but he's not allowed, and it drives him crazy.

                He can feel Richelieu's hands traveling over his torso, pressing their bodies together or pulling them apart, yet still not breaking the slow kisses, fingers scratching at Rochefort's back or tracing his spine and ribs. Rochefort is almost glad that the lower parts of his body receive no attention: he's painfully hard, but the later Richelieu discovers the better.

                His tongue is slowly following that of Richelieu's when suddenly the Cardinal steps back and with one fluid motion of his hand grabs the whip and uses it.

                The pain is sudden and harsh, and it makes Rochefort scream in surprise. He grunts, suppressing his urge to swear and spit, especially now that he is in front of the Cardinal, and tenses his body in anticipation of the following blows.

                "Tsk, tsk. To take advantage of a man of the cloth... Rochefort, you are so lewd!" Richelieu teases him and the whip cracks in the air next to Rochefort's hip.

                Rochefort raises his gaze in pure disbelief, his emotions a storm of arousal and anger. He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again and bows his head. In this trap, at least, he won't fall.

                "Nothing to say for yourself, I see... better this way, don't you think?" Richelieu mocks him and the whip bites at Rochefort's upper thigh, making him grunt and gnash his teeth. "Now, that's more like it. Maybe you are a son of France after all."

                Rochefort bares his teeth, ready to retort, and barely manages to keep his mouth shut. He knows better than to respond to the Cardinal's provocations. He must not respond, at least not verbally. The sharp edge of the pain slowly melts around the place where the whip has hit him, causing a strange tingling sensation, not entirely unpleasant. He breathes out, shirking the realization that he is probably getting off the pain as much as the caresses of the Cardinal's body.

                He hears Richelieu stepping closer to him, sees his boots coming into his field of vision, and then the Cardinal's hand is again brushing gently his cheek.

                "Your responses are strangely manipulative, you know." Richelieu says slowly, and there's something in his voice, something darker, but also very arousing.

                "As Your Eminence says." Rochefort agrees, but the pain and confusion add an edge to his otherwise calm voice.

                "Yes... yes..." Richelieu mumbles, more to himself than to Rochefort. He hangs the whip on Rochefort's shoulder and starts to unbutton his drawers. His little finger accidentally brushes over the tip of Rochefort's hard cock and he swallows a particularly lewd moan, but his hips betray him and rock forward, seeking more attention for his erection.

                "Ah, Rochefort, what is this?" Richelieu gasps with a particularly mocking imitation of surprise and rubs the red, swollen tip with his index finger. "Are you perchance a masochist?" he teases and sinks his perfect short nail in the thin patch of hair that covers the lower abdomen of Rochefort, scratching lightly at the skin beneath. Rochefort lets out a sharp exhale.

                "No."

                "Well I certainly hope it is not some sort of corporeal affection for me, as I can’t… really… return the feelings." the Cardinal lifts Rochefort's chin and smiles almost sweetly at him. Something in Rochefort's chest breaks but he forces himself to steel his gaze, and stares back at Richelieu.

                The Cardinal graces him with one last smile, after which he takes the whip and averts his gaze down at Rochefort's open pants. Richelieu's elegant, swift fingers coil the thin end of the whip around Rochefort's erection and his scrotum, tugging lightly every now and then to ensure that the makeshift ring is holding tight, bringing discomfort but not real pain. When satisfied, he makes a small loop which turns into a knot, and he tightens it so that the whip would stay in place and not unroll. Seemingly pleased, Richelieu pulls lightly at the whip's handle and lets it hang down from Rochefort.

                The Cardinal plans a very soft kiss on Rochefort's collarbone and hooks his thumbs into the prisoner's drawers.

                "You'll have to give me a hand with these... metaphorically speaking." he murmurs, but his voice is somewhat changed now, more raspy and breathy, less collected.

                Rochefort happily obliges and wriggles out of his drawers, which leaves him in his undershirt only (and the whip, of course). His cock, almost painfully hard now, perhaps from the whip, pokes at the fine cotton material and leaves a dab of wet spot where pre-come has already trickled from him.

                Richelieu fists his hands in the shirt, pulling Rochefort closer again and almost savagely assaults his neck. Rochefort doesn't need another invitation and happily leans it, baring as much as he can, gasping as quiet as he possibly can. He is still formally obliged to keep quiet, but the arousal, and some bits left of his anger, fuel him with lust like nothing else in his life, make him want to groan and moan and gasp like a whore, he who is ever the collected one even when buried to the hilt in some wench lucky enough to get his attention.

                Richelieu's fingers caress his inner tight, his fingers tracing up and up, until they reach Rochefort's face. The latter doesn't wait, but on his own accord opens his mouth and sucks hungrily on them; licks at them with passion, soaks them in his saliva. His tongue explores every bit it can possibly reach, from the blunt nails and mapped pads, to the soft and sensitive skin between their bases, reaching as far as he can, even to the knuckles.

It tastes like parchment and ink at first, with hints of the alcoholic liquid used as a base for the Cardinal's perfume, but these tastes soon melt away in the cavern of his mouth, leaving him with only the feeling of the slowly wrinkling skin beneath his ministrations. It feels good to him, like that, and he can tell that Richelieu is pleased as well - his fingers rock back and forth in Rochefort's mouth, very suggestive of what will happen to him later, and the Cardinal's hips brush against his own every now and then. Rochefort can tell the other man is hard as well, and when their erections rub together it makes him almost faint with arousal. It drives him crazy, wanting to break out of those chains and shove the Cardinal against the nearest wall, only to fuck him senseless. But he knows it is impossible, and that the chains are too strong, and that Richelieu will never allow Rochefort ho have his way with him. It makes his body spasm with something like regret, but most of it is pure anticipation.

                "You seem very eager to please, all of a sudden." the Cardinal breathes against the irritated skin of his neck, and his voice is most playful.

                "I am always eager to please Your Eminence." Rochefort replies mechanically and gags on the other man's fingers, completely forgetting that he was so eagerly sucking on them just a moment ago.

                The Cardinal laughs, genuinely amused.

                "Spread your legs." he commands and Rochefort obeys immediately. The motion makes his cock to wave slightly and the brushing of clothes against the tip elicits a soft sigh from him.

                The Cardinal swiftly pulls his fingers from Rochefort's mouth and brings them to the chained man's lower back. He traces the cleft of Rochefort's ass, after which he pushes his middle finger in and nearly forces the index one immediately after. Rochefort gasps from the surprise and his muscles clench involuntarily, but it only brings more discomfort.

                "Shh, relax now." Richelieu coos him. "Take deep breaths and relax, unless you want it to be painful and not just mildly uncomfortable." he advices him and tries to further wriggle in his fingers in Rochefort's tight ass.

                Rochefort takes a deep breath.

                "Can we take this a bit more slowly?" he tries, and is quick to be disillusioned.

                "No." is the immediate reply of Richelieu. "First of all, I am an impatient man when it comes to good things, my dear Rochefort. Not to mention, you brought this on yourself. Have you not been chained, your mouth would've been available to make itself useful for once." he scolds him further, as if Rochefort has jumped into a puddle and complained of getting his boots wet.

                Rochefort nods and tries to concentrate on his breathing while Richelieu mercilessly shoves deeper and deeper inside of him. Unfortunately, the novelty and discomfort of the feeling, plus the hot breath of the Cardinal, distract him too much, and the beast he can do is spasm through it.

                He doesn't know how much time it takes one to adjust to such intrusion, maybe less than it takes him. He's not sure whether he feels the growing irritation of the Cardinal or just plainly fears it. He manages, eventually, to relax enough, and soon after the stretching goes further, as Richelieu starts making scissor-like movements inside of him. The discomfort lessens, and so do the spasms that clench his ass, every now and then, when the fingers stretch him too much.

                Richelieu bites him viciously on the shoulder and it makes his whole body tense with the pain and pleasure of it, but it seems that it is part of the Cardinal's plan as he immediately takes his fingers out. The sudden emptiness makes him clench and unclench his muscles.

                Richelieu swiftly unbuttons his pants and pulls them down enough to bare his hard cock and his ass. He smiles when Rochefort invites him in by lifting his leg as much as his pose allows him to.

                Rochefort has sparred with the Cardinal a few times, and knows his swiftness and plasticity when it comes to the crossing of blades. He is unprepared, however, for the brutal display of power, when Richelieu grabs both his thighs and lifts him easily off the ground, immediately after impaling him like a criminal on his cock. The surprise, the stretch and the searing pain are too much for Rochefort and he screams. It's not enough, it doesn’t make the pain go away, and he wants to scream more, but he knows it won't help, so he hisses for breath and grunts continuously.

                "Warning you would've made you clench unnecessarily." Richelieu explains with a most calm tone, as if pointing out a spelling mistake. "Just breathe. Hold onto me."

                Rochefort grips at Richelieu's waist with his legs, desperate from the pain still burning inside of him. Even if the gripping brings discomfort to the Cardinal, he shows no sign of it. His hand caresses Rochefort's cock as he makes quiet, cooing noises. He kisses softly at the bruised skin that has been within the reach of his mouth during their encounter.

                Rochefort tightens the grip of his legs experimentally when he feels better enough. There is the pain, certainly, but it has faded somewhat to the background, and he feels mostly the discomfort of the stretch. He loosens his grip, then tightens it again. There is minimal movement within him, more moving of clenched muscles around the foreign object rather than friction, but it works for him, it feels somewhat good. There is the promise of something better soon, and he wonders whether it is wishful thinking or there is some kind of body knowledge of hidden pleasure, reserved only to ensure his base reproductive needs.

                A gentle touch on the lips blows out his anatomical musings, all of his thoughts actually, and he gives into the kiss. It's slower this time, and very sensual. The warmth of Richelieu's lips, the taste of his tongue. The Cardinal's arms grab and knead at his bared buttocks, but also lift him slightly, easing the strain on his own chained hands. He eases into the touch, and rocks slightly against the other man's body. He slowly starts to relax: he can feel his muscles again, and clench them around the Cardinal. His cock, quite limp from the surprise and pain, is starting to throb again, the rocking movements make it wave and the tip brushes against Richelieu's skin, further fueling his desire.

                They establish a slow rhythm, breaking the kiss only to gasp for air, and gradually Richelieu's rocking is slowly taken over by the loosening and gripping of Rochefort, which becomes more and more erratic. The stretch, at first so painful, is now replaced by the wonderful feeling of being filled. Richelieu sounds quite pleased against his lips, breaking their kiss more and more often to gasp and breathe against Rochefort.

                "You seem to be having fun, Rochefort." he laughs, barely finishing the sentence after a particularly aggressive clench of Rochefort's legs.

                Rochefort thinks carefully and slowly crafts his reply.

                "It feels wonderful to be filled with Your Grace."

                "Charmer." Richelieu laughs again.

                He takes firm hold of Rochefort’s still bucking legs, lifts him with ease and forces him back down on himself. Rochefort is completely unprepared for the feeling that pools from within him, and moans loudly.

                "Yes, murmur and moan, Rochefort, and leave the Cardinal to do things by himself in the end." Richelieu teases him, but his voice is soft and amused.

                He changes their angle a bit and, grabbing firm hold of Rochefort's hips, starts fucking him mercilessly, each hit a spot-on against that special place deep within Rochefort. He cannot help himself but cry and moan from the overwhelming pleasure; his legs begin to tremble and he is on the point of breaking when, after a particularly violent thrust, the Cardinal stiffens beneath him. He leans his forehead against Rochefort's collarbone and a low grunt reverberates in his chest, but he holds the chained man firmly in place as he comes inside him, his cock throbbing with each new wave of come.

                They stay a little like this, rocking gently back and forth on the Cardinal's weak knees. All of a sudden Rochefort fears he will be left like this, cock restrained and hard, ass leaking; it is a completely possible outcome, of course, but he doesn't wish for it.

                "That was.... oh dear. Quite a needy fellow, are you?" Richelieu teases him. He doesn’t pull from Rochefort, however.

                He undoes the knot and lets the whip fall to the ground. His long, delicate fingers brush the skin around the base of Rochefort's cock, where the whip has left red and maddened skin. It takes only one grip, though, only a single, tight tug and Rochefort is coming hard between them, aided by the most helpful hand of the Cardinal. His body goes limp, his legs barely hold at the Cardinal's waist, but he is still coming, like never before in his life. The Cardinal milks him out, and even after the waves of pleasure start to subside, his hand is still pumping, at first teasing and then driving Rochefort nearly mad into hypersensitivity.

                "I... I can't, I'm.... please..." Rochefort manages and his hips try to buck away from the maddening feeling.

                Richelieu nods and stops. He gently holds Rochefort's feet and pulls out. His now limp cock is followed by his own come, trickling down from Rochefort's ass, spreading around his hole before dripping on the floor. Rochefort himself unclasps the tight hold of his legs and is aided into stepping on his own feet. He nearly slumps down, but the fetters around his arms hold him into place. There is a dull ache in his wrists and somewhere in the back of his mind he suspects it'll become worse when the euphoria from his orgasm subsides completely.

                Rochefort explores the Cardinal's face between half-closed lashes as the latter frees his tired arms from the fetters. Perhaps it will be best for him to rethink the process and concept of owning.

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself, other that I ship them to the point of physical pain.


End file.
